No Need For Words
by bananaquit
Summary: A late night study session. A lot unsaid. But that's okay.


Ford looked briefly up from his paper to glance at his roommate, who was hunched over the desk beside him. He rolled his eyes upon realizing that Fiddleford was fast asleep. Stanford stood and slid his arms around his friend, hoisting his slim form into his arms and carrying him to bed with a smirk. He gently laid him down on his bed, doing his best not to wake him.

He didn't see one of Fiddleford's eyes open ever so slightly.

This was pretty much a nightly routine during exam week. Fiddleford's need for sleep could beat out even the power of caffeine most nights. Ford couldn't help but smile softly at him as he gently removed his spectacles and set them on the nightstand. He sat on a chair beside the bed for a moment before realizing he was just sitting there staring at him sleep like some kind of lovesick creep. Honestly, though, he couldn't really help but smile looking at him. He looked so content and it was adorable and… He needed to stop. It was just a dumb crush.

"Good night," he murmured, subconsciously leaning closer to him. "I love you." It kind of slipped out, but at the same time it felt natural. It felt strangely nice to say it out loud, to let himself admit it. Besides, Fiddleford was asleep, so it didn't really matter.

Then there was suddenly a hand on his face, grabbing his chin and pulling him down to Fiddleford's level. And then Fiddleford was kissing him. Wasn't he asleep? He was supposed to be asleep! Soft lips were meeting his own a million thoughts were flying through his head. And then the fingers slipped from his cheek and he sat up again and Fiddleford groggily muttered something he didn't understand under his breath and rolled over to face the wall away from him and it was over.

"Fiddleford?" he ventured quietly, holding his breath. There was no response. What- Really, what _was_ that? Did he do that in his sleep? Maybe it was just because he'd been half-awake and sleep-deprived and he didn't really know what he was doing? Stanford put his hand on his face, pushing up his glasses. He knew that whatever it was, it wasn't real. Fiddleford's mental state was altered by caffeine and lack of sleep. What had just happened – it didn't mean what he wanted it to mean. But he wanted it to be sincere, and he hated himself for wanting it.

He put his head in his hands and let himself breathe for a couple of minutes, trying to calm his mind. It was fine. Fiddleford wouldn't even remember in the morning and he didn't have to tell him. Did he? It would feel wrong not to tell him… He had more important things to worry about. This was all so silly. He had a paper to work on, what was he even doing?

Stanford sat back down at the desk and tried to make his pencil move. But his brain refused to think about anything other than that stupid kiss. He'd told himself he wouldn't become distracted by this kind of thing, that it wouldn't interfere with his studies – but now here he was, pining and pathetic and unable to function because he was in far too deep. He clenched his fists and stayed awake for the rest of the night, staring at the wall and wishing things were different.

When Fiddleford stirred in the morning, Stanford's eyes were sore from staying open. He straightened his posture and inhaled as Fiddleford sat up and looked at him with sleepy eyes and a small smile and tousled hair and he was getting that stupid lighthearted feeling again just looking at him. Was he going to say something? Did he remember?

"Mornin'." Was all that Fiddleford said. He rubbed sleep from his eyes and shoved off the covers before swinging his legs off the bed. Stanford stared at him. Oh, gosh. He didn't remember, did he? Ford didn't want to tell him, but it really wouldn't be fair if he kept it a secret.

"Fiddleford… Do you remember what happened last night?" Ford rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, glancing from his friend to the floor and back again.

Fiddleford moved himself from the bed to the swivel chair beside it and absentmindedly wheeled himself up beside Ford. "No, what happ-" Fidds looked up and saw his expression. Ford watched as the color practically drained from his face. "Oh." There was a moment of tense silence as they both attempted to process what was going on. For Stanford, it felt like someone had dropped a weight inside his ribcage. Fiddleford knew, and now… He took a breath in, dreading what was coming.

"Oh, gosh, you… You meant… 'Ya didn't… 'Ya didn't mean it like that, did you?" Fiddleford's voice cracked. "Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. _I'm so sorry, Stanford! I'm so sorry!_ " He kept stammering out apologies as he stood up and turned away from Ford, literally shaking and flapping his hands and… Was he _hyperventilating_?

Stanford sat there for a second before he fully processed the words. Then he jumped to his feet and rushed over to Fiddleford, trying to think of something to say to calm him down. He stood there with his mouth half open and his hands out in front of him, not really knowing what do with them. He wanted to tell him that it was okay, that he loved him, but no words would come out. But he needed to stop him from panicking, he had to tell him these things somehow. So he just grabbed Fiddleford's cheeks and pulled his face toward him and kissed him.

They broke apart after a second and stared at each other with wide eyes and open mouths, both a bit dumbfounded. Ford tried to stutter out an apology, but suddenly Fiddleford's arms were thrown around his neck and his mouth was on his again and it was _wonderful_. Then they were both grinning at each other and stammering. There were unsaid words, but it didn't really matter. They both understood what would have been said if they had the ability to speak in that moment. And that knowledge was all they really needed.

For a minute, they just stood at arm's length from one another, Fiddleford trying to catch his breath and Ford trying to slow the rapid beating of his heart. Then they wrapped each other in a shaky but sincere embrace, both of them relaxing against the other's body. There was comfort in the warmth and there was comfort in knowing that not a word needed to be said until they were ready. Ford thought about how strange it was to have found something like this in a place like this. It was so unlikely yet so inevitable and his brain hurt just considering it all.

All he really knew at the moment was that it felt good to hold him. Also that he was tired. Also that there were still two hours until their alarm went off because Fiddleford somehow woke up early. And so he fell onto the bed and Fiddleford collapsed beside him and they slept side-by-side until they had to rise and face the world again.


End file.
